


Valentine's Woes

by Ashbashcrashed



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/F, F/M, I wrote this like more than a year ago, anyway here goes again, i even wrote follow up chapters and then just forgot to post them, oh and just in time for valentine's day! cause i'm bloody cheesy, whoops?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 05:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9703982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashbashcrashed/pseuds/Ashbashcrashed
Summary: Love is in despair, and then in the air. After a faux pas, Penelope Garcia breaks up with Kevin Lynch. Luckily, her friends and a certain Derek Morgan are there to comfort her.





	1. The end

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds. The bartender, Chrissy, is my own creation (also appeared in Love and Hangovers, but they're two separate stories).

What had started civilly with a bottle of wine had progressed to another bottle of wine, and had then made its way to shots. The fifth shot of the night slid down without a hitch for Penelope Garcia. Her friends, Emily Prentiss and Jennifer Jareau were trailing behind, enraptured in the story of her break up.

Penelope gesticulated wildly with her hands, “I mean, it was Valentine’s Day. _Valentine’s Day_. What was he thinking? He didn’t get me _any_ thing.” She scowled, slamming the shot glass down slightly harder than she intended. Emily and JJ winced simultaneously, but the glass—thankfully—didn’t crack. “It’s not like I even said I didn’t celebrate Valentine’s Day, either. I’m Penelope _freakin’_ Garcia! Of course I celebrate Valentine’s Day!” the long-suffering bartender, Chrissy, brought another tray of shots over. She grinned at the trio, holding back her laughter. She collected the much-abused shot glasses, in a good-natured way that was one of the reasons the agents frequented the bar. Chrissy was the owner, and she was willing to overlook the many shenanigans of her favourite FBI agents.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Chrissy said.

Emily smiled. “You’re not interrupting,” she said softly. Well, as softly as you could say anything in a crowded bar on a Saturday night.

“That’s sweet, but I am. With good reason. There’s a group of men who’ve asked to be seated with y’all, I just wanted to check if that was alright.” Chrissy pointed over to the door, where Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid stood waiting. She raised her voice so that they could hear her: “I think I’ve seen these losers hanging around with you before, but they could be crazy stalkers and murderers.” The girls fell about laughing, observing their offended team mates.

“You’re my favourite,” Emily said, grinning wolfishly.

“I should hope so,” Chrissy replied with a smirk. She walked away, waving the gentlemen over. Emily watched her go, her eyes intense.

“You’re drooling, Em,” JJ whispered loudly.

Her friends burst out laughing, and Emily stood up, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll go get the drinks in,” she replied, pursing her lips as though she had the moral highground.

“Yeah, and that’s not all.” JJ jibed, causing the others to laugh again. Emily flipped her off and then tottered over to the bar.

“Jayje, stop being mean to Em.” Penelope said half-heartedly. She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, that sounded fake, even to me. When did I get so bitter?” she asked, pouting.

JJ mimed looking at a watch. “Approximately twenty-three hours ago.”

“What happened yesterday?” Derek asked, going from nought to protective mode in a second. “Do I need to punch someone?”

“Don’t punch anyone.” Hotch ordered, sternly. “You’re too good of an agent to lose based on a bogus assault charge.” He smiled slightly. “I’m going to go and help Prentiss get the drinks. I think she’s forgotten why she went over there.”

Penelope had already downed her next drink, so she grabbed Emily’s discarded shot, and downed that. “So yesterday was Valentine’s Day, right?” Derek nodded, realising that although it sounded like a rhetorical question, it probably wasn’t. “Right.” She nodded, and he smiled. Dodged a bullet there. “Kevin didn’t get me anything for Valentine’s Day! _Valentine’s Day_! Don’t I look like the sort of person who celebrates Valentine’s Day? I mean, I’m—”

“Penelope _freakin’_ Garcia!” JJ and Penelope said simultaneously. This led to a lot of raised eyebrows, and laughter.

“I’ve just sat through this.” JJ explained. “Garcie here is on her seventh… no, let’s make that eighth,” Emily set another drink down in front of Penelope which was immediately consumed. “shot of the night.”

“Wow,” Derek said. “Have they all been that strong?”

“Well, when you add them to the wine we had earlier…”

“I’m still here, yaknow.” Penelope pointed out.

“You won’t be for long,” Derek assured her. Penelope giggled, and everyone else started to laugh too. Such an infectious laugh, that girl.

“You gonna take me home and _ravish_ me?” she waggled her eyebrows, beginning to hiccup.

“Oh, baby girl. I’m going to take you home and tuck you in, silly.” Penelope laughed.

“You gonna – _hic_ – take me home and fuck me in?” JJ snorted, almost spilling her drink.

“Oh Garcie, I’m never going to let you forget that,” she told her friend, gasping for air.

“Me neither, PG.” Emily said, snickering. Penelope stuck her tongue out at her friends.

“Chrissy.” She said to Emily. “Credit score.” She said to JJ. ‘Credit score’ was code for ‘all the embarrassing shit I have on you that I can’t say in front of any of these people without straight up telling them, and ruining your life.’ You could see why they had to shorten it to just ‘Credit score’.

“Baby girl, you’ve clearly had enough. I’m not going to take advantage of you. You’re too drunk for fucking,” Derek said. He sounded amused, but he also sounded like he would take her up on her offer if she had been a bit more sober. Soberer. Was that a word? She decided it was a word now.

“One day I will be soberer.” She declared proudly, standing up unsteadily. “I have to pee.” She announced to the table, just as proudly.

“I’ll take you,” Emily said, jumping up eagerly. The toilets were conveniently right by the bar. Reid and Rossi sniggered at their friends.

“She’s going to be a mess in the morning.” Rossi commented, nursing his first scotch of the night.

“I’ll make sure she’s okay.” Derek said, smiling softly. That made Reid snicker. Derek turned to glare at him. He widened his eyes, looking innocent.

“You’re just such a good _friend_ , that’s all.” He said, trying not to laugh at the expression on his friend’s face. Hotch and Rossi didn’t bother, and both laughed deeply. Derek scowled.

“She has a boyfriend. You know I can’t do that to her.”

“Not anymore.” JJ said. “She dumped him. She didn’t say? Oh, I guess she didn’t get that far with the story the second time.” JJ shrugged at the astonishment marking Derek’s face. Emily and Penelope walked back to the table, Penelope leaning on Emily for support. While Penelope was seemingly oblivious to the conversation, Emily had heard the tail-end of it.

“Did you get to the part where she talks about how she’s Penelope _freakin’_ Garcia?” Emily asked, sounding solemn. “That was my favourite part.” Penelope mouthed the words ‘Penelope freakin’ Garcia’, making everyone laugh.

“That’s exactly where she got up to,” Reid said. “It was my favourite part, too. JJ joined in for it.” Emily sighed.

“Wish I’d been there for it.” Her eyes trailed over to the bar, and she smiled. “Well, not that much.” Rossi groaned.

“You’ve got it bad, kid.” He looked heavenward. “All of you kids have got it bad.” He made it sound disgusting, but they knew he was joking. The only thing he hated about lust, love and attraction was people not acting on their feelings.

“I’m soberer now.” Penelope informed Derek. Several derisive snorts sounded around the table. “You gonna fuck me in?” Derek groaned, holding his head in his hands as all of their friends laughed around them. Her eyes were wide, and there was plain confusion in them.

“You don’t wanna fuck me?” she asked. Gone was the usual teasing tone, gone were all flirtatious looks, smirks, and pretences. It was one, albeit extremely drunk, woman talking to an uncomfortably sober man. Derek was acutely aware of how quiet the other agents had fallen, paying intent attention to the question Penelope had asked him, and waiting expectantly for an answer—the right answer.

“Always,” he admitted. She smiled brightly. “But not tonight, not like this. I want to wait for a time when you haven’t just broken up with your knuckle-head boyfriend, and you’re not drunk and unable to really give yourself to me. And…” he stared straight into her eyes. “I don’t just want to fuck you. I want to make love with you. I want to do this—and you, you silly drunk girl—properly.”

Several wolf-whistles rang through the bar, and cat-calls, and cheers and whoops. “About damn time!” one patron called out. They didn’t know his name, but they’d seen him often in the bar. Apparently, he had seen them too. Needless to say, Derek was thoroughly embarrassed. But it was the truth, and it was too late to do anything about it now.

“Really?” Penelope breathed out, still wide eyed.

“Yes. I love you, Penelope Garcia. You crazy, crazy drunk girl.” She grinned and fell onto him to grab him into a hug. He smiled and stood up, pulling her up with him. “Time to get you home, baby girl.”

“Okay, hot stuff.” She waved goodbye to their friends, and the other people in the bar who had applauded and been happy for her.

The drive home was a blur which Penelope struggled to focus on. Her eyes kept on closing, and she tried to stay awake but couldn’t.

Derek encouraged her to drink water, coffee, and aspirin laden water. She did everything he asked, while smiling lovingly and slightly dopily at him the whole time. Finally, he put her into bed. He would have left her there, but she looked up at him with bright eyes and the sweetest little smile, and said “Stay.” He couldn’t refuse her anything.


	2. the middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Still don't own Criminal Minds.

Waking up, Penelope realised that there were arms wrapped around her. Two very warm, comfortable arms. She realised that there was something wrong with these arms—in that, there was nothing wrong with them. Kevin always managed to hold her awkwardly, with cold, uncomfortable arms. Usually a bony elbow was digging into her side as he held her far too tight. She didn’t feel like she was going to suffocate, and that was how she knew it wasn’t her boyfriend in bed with her.

Waking up slightly more—her head was pounding, how much had she had to drink last night?—she remembered the utter shambles that had been Valentine’s Day. Breaking up with Kevin. Him crying, begging for another second chance. Her going out with Jayje and Em. Two bottles of wine. Three shots. And then… nothing.

She slowly cracked an eye open. She wasn’t sure she wanted to wake up, but she had to know what had happened—what (or who) she had done last night. Opening one eye hadn’t caused the end of the world, so she tried the other. And looked down. Quickly, like ripping a band aid off.

The arms were slightly hairy, brown, and very, very familiar. How many times had she admired those arms at work? Especially in the summer, with his shirt sleeves rolled up. Shit. Shit shit shit. Well, there was nothing wrong with it. No, nothing at all. How many years had she been fantasizing about Morgan, anyway? She just hadn’t pictured it happening like _that_. In her fantasies, she was sober—well, sober enough to remember the night before the morning after—and he had made some kind of a commitment to her. She loved Derek Morgan, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t, be one of those girls. He wasn’t as big a player as he used to be, sure. He’d almost definitely stopped having one night stands. But his relationships were still startlingly short.

It was tempting. He was tempting. She didn’t remember a thing, but she was sure it was good. But then, she didn’t _feel_ like she’d had sex. And there was no way of checking without waking him up. And then they would have to have The Talk. And she was going to barf.

She groaned. Oh dear, she was actually going to throw up. The hold was loose enough for her to escape from, so she did, doing her best to make it to the toilet before she up-chucked-the-boogie.

“Fuck,” she muttered, after she was finished. She stumbled out of the bathroom, tripping on what looked like yesterday’s knickers, and grimaced, walking over to the kitchen. She needed water. There she found Derek Morgan, grinning at her. In her kitchen. In the morning. After they had presumably had some very enjoyable, though (apparently) totally forgettable, sex. The universe had a cruel sense of humour.

“Morning, gorgeous.” He said, producing a wine glass filled with water with a flourish. “It was all I could find,” he explained, handing it over. She swirled the water around, spat, swirled some more around, spat again, and gulped the rest down. She took her own sweet time, too. This conversation was going to be weird, and she wasn’t keen to start it.

“Hey.” She said simply, feeling like she was going to throw up again. What had happened last night?

“Hey?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “After last night I get a ‘hey’?” so they had had sex. Right?

“Did we have sex last night?” she blurted out. There didn’t seem to be a tactful way to tell him that she didn’t remember anything after her third shot. Though, now that she thought about it, that probably would have sufficed. She was embarrassed, but not that embarrassed. Hangover beat out embarrassment.

“No!” he said, looking and sounding _disgusted_. Great. So they hadn’t had sex. If anything, he was repulsed at the idea that she thought that they’d had sex. He probably thought she was crazy, thinking he’d stoop that low…

“Look, I’m going to go get you some coffee. You’re all out. When I come back, we’ll talk.” She just nodded, looking away. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry.

The minute the door closed behind him, she cried.

 

The walk to the café did Derek a world of good. He found it hard enough to think straight around her under normal circumstances. There was nothing normal about this. Last night he had confessed his love for her, and this morning she obviously couldn’t remember. He knew that it wasn’t her fault—well, she had been the one pouring copious amounts of alcohol down her throat, so that was definitely on her—how could he expect her to remember?

All the same, it hurt to think that she didn’t remember what had been a life changing conversation. A conversation that had been very public, too. And most hurtful—the assumption that they had had sex. He wasn’t some monster who couldn’t control himself. He liked his partners sober enough to consent, thank you very much. Was that really what she thought of him?

“Half caff extra shot venti two pump non-fat hold the whip caramel macchiato,” called the barista. “and one Americana.”

“Thanks,” he said, grabbing both drinks. Coffee would help. Coffee always provided insight.

So, she couldn’t remember last night. He would help her to remember.


End file.
